


Unnatural Causes

by DustyForgotten



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Death, Comedy, Gen, M/M, Past Animal Abuse, Pre-Slash, Taxidermy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 14:43:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyForgotten/pseuds/DustyForgotten
Summary: I'd like to continue this (as this isn't exactly a conclusion), but couldn't decide how. What do you want to happen next? How nuts is Hux? Should we get shippy with it? (Who am I kidding? It's gonna be shippy.) Leave your suggestions, and tune in whenever the hell I update this!





	Unnatural Causes

_ “Hey, uh… Sorry to tell you this, but I um… I think I found your cat.” _

He opens the door and swallows the urge to haul ass out the nearest window. The guy in the hallway is dressed too nice for this shithole, face like a long day and he’s in no mood, posture like a goddamn FBI agent. He shoves his hand stiffly through the threshold, unblinking.

“Hux,” he says after a moment of confused silence.

His grip is painful, despite how cold and pale his hands are. “Kylo.”

“I assume you have her, then?”

Kylo frowns, motioning for the militant man to follow as he turns into the apartment. “About that…”

This isn’t who he imagined stapling flyers to telephone poles— assumed he’d be breaking the news to a mom and sobbing toddlers or some old woman planning to leave her entire estate to that cat. It fries his brain a little to think of someone like Hux so worried about his missing pet he printed posters. He doesn’t seem the sort to care about anything.

Kitchen and living space share a room, so he’s repurposed the dining table as a workspace. Towels cover the surface, a box of gloves and crafting knives— a black garbage bag nestled in hastily-cleared spot. “I’m not even sure it’s  _ your _ cat, you know? Orange tabby— all look the same to me.”

He glances at the black bag down his nose, fixes Kylo with an unflinching stare. “Show me.”

Taking hold of the ties, he warns, “It’s pretty nasty—”

“Show me.”

Kylo unties the drawstrings, neat little bow for the dead animal in a trash bag. He pulls away plastic to expose the cat: eyes mostly closed, blood stained face and sharp tooth peeking through.

“I think it was a coyote,” he says, stepping back. Hux winces when he reaches out to stroke blood-matted fur.

“Millie…” Hux mutters, appropriately— however unexpectedly— upset. “I haven’t seen a coyote around here in years.” He combs the crown, squinting irritably when his fingernail catches a coagulated cut. “What we do have are untrained, unsupervised dogs.”

"Yeah, I've seen a couple of those…" Usually stealing his roadkill— when he finds them alive, anyway.

"Kylo," catches his attention, darting up from the thumb scritching behind an ear to an incredulous, otherwise unreadable expression.

"… Yeah?" he prompts when the guy says nothing more.

"Why do you have my cat?"

He opens his mouth to respond, and all that comes out is an eventual, creaking, "Uh…"

"You have a dead, disemboweled cat on your dining table, surrounded by what appear to be surgical supplies."

"It's not weird—" Kylo blurts, seriously considering that window again.

"It's rather weird," he replies, unflinching.

"I'm not a serial killer—"

One brow ticks up. "I never suggested you were."

"Yeah, but like, a lot a serial killers start by torturing small animals—" He's babbling; that's bad.

"Do you?"

"No, I just—"

"I did."

"If they're already dead, it's— wait, what?"

He expects a rebuttal, backpedal, anything but further, unbothered admittance, "It was a phase I had as a child."

"That's not…" How he expected this interaction to culminate.

Hux notices himself petting a dead animal, and folds his hands behind his back. "No, but neither was my childhood."

A lot of serial killers start by torturing small animals; can he book it before this guy stabs him? His assessment is interrupted by, "Why do you have my cat, Kylo?"

No longer concerned with this man's comfort as much as his life, Kylo stammers, "I'm a, uh, amateur taxidermist."

"Is that so?" He sounds interested, and no more murderous than when they met— but neither did Bundy, probably. "Might I ask a favour of you?"

There's only one window in this stupid, tiny, fourth floor apartment, and he's having American Psycho flashbacks about the stairwell. "Uh, sure, yeah." There are scalpels on the table, but none with the goddamn blade in. He regrets cleaning for company.

"Have you stuffed a cat before?"

"Um." If he goes for a kitchen knife, he's already fucked. "I mean, I did a bobcat once—"

"Do you think you could mount Millie?" he asks, face as straight as when he walked in, as he mentioned a horrifying history of animal abuse.

"Uh…" That bobcat came out a little cartoonish, and extremely upsetting, but is he going to tell that to H.H. Hux here? Hell no.

"I'd pay you, of course."

In days to live? Kylo's still not gonna turn it down. "I never— but I could—"

"Just think about it. You have my number, don't you?" he says, turning. There is no knife behind his back, but it doesn't make Kylo feel any better.

"Yeah, um—"

"Just do what you can, or call me so I can have her cremated."

He tries to acquise, only coming up with a wilting, "Euh…"

"Keep in touch," Hux reminds, heading for the door, "I have pilates."

Alone in his apartment again, Kylo looks to the dead cat for comfort.

He's not FBI; that's for damn sure.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to continue this (as this isn't exactly a conclusion), but couldn't decide how. What do you want to happen next? How nuts is Hux? Should we get shippy with it? (Who am I kidding? It's gonna be shippy.) Leave your suggestions, and tune in whenever the hell I update this!


End file.
